Full Circle
by romanitas
Summary: Annabeth makes a pitstop in San Francisco. The reaction from the family she once fled is unexpected. Post-Tartarus.


sort of a companion to my fic "Homecoming," though it doesn't have to be read first or after, it just deals with the same sort of coming home after tartarus thing, but annabeth's side/her family!

* * *

It feels like forever and a day since she's stepped foot in San Francisco. She's not sure the brief stint and catastrophe at Camp Jupiter counts. Her father's house isn't even terribly far from the Camp itself, which is partially how she found herself here.

Annabeth has never had the smoothest of relationships with her mortal family, but they'd been getting better (before she disappeared off the face of the earth at least). It doesn't stop the butterflies from going nuts in her stomach, though, nor give her the motivation to cross the street. She's so close, but something heavy presses against her, holding her back.

She thinks about Sally's arms wrapping around her, warm and tight, _safe_, and maybe she's a little afraid this won't be the same. She is older and harder, scarred beyond just the physical, what if she's become something unrecognizable?

But Arachne is dead, and it feels like a chord was severed with it, against feeling so alone and so small in a house full of people she was so sure didn't love her. It's that thought that pushes her feet forward and she crosses the street, makes her way up the stairs on the stoop. She stops at the door, hand raised in a fist to knock – it's strange, that desire to _knock_, even with the words of this being her home too still lingering forever in the back of her mind.

She raps at the door, drawing in a breath. The response is silence, and she exhales sharply, bouncing back and forth on her feet. She knocks again, softly, and when there's still no answer, she digs a hand into her pocket where the key rests, shoved in there before she left New York; she pulls it out and stares at it, biting her lip with hesitation. Maybe she should knock again, it's been so long, maybe too long, but before thinking about it overwhelms her, she slips the key in and unlocks the door, cracking it open only enough to slip herself inside.

It's pretty much exactly like she remembers – toys everywhere, books stacked on windowsills, the soft smell of something baking in the kitchen. Her heart jumps a bit, because that means someone is home. She should call out, but her voice catches in her throat, so she just keeps walking through the house, tip-toeing over matchbox cars and legos.

Annabeth steps into the living room, her foot accidentally landing on the creaky floorboard; the sound echoes, and she hears the movement in the kitchen still.

She stills herself, especially when the person inside starts walking across the tiles, and the voice of her stepmother files in, just as the woman herself peers through. "Who's – "

Mrs. Chase freezes, her eyes latching onto the sight of her stepdaughter. For a moment, Annabeth feels a surge of panic crawling through her; she should have called instead, she should have sent word on ahead, she should have –

"Oh my god, _Annabeth_," she says, her tone suddenly breaking with relief and something almost like being on the edge of tears. She starts rushing forward before the sentence is even out of her mouth.

The next thing she knows, her stepmother's arms are around her, pulling her into a tight hug, her small hands clutching into the back of her shirt. Annabeth stands there, dumbfounded, trying to process what's happening as the older woman repeats another _oh my god_ under her breath, body shaking in the embrace.

Annabeth lifts her arms, slowly, but they wrap around her stepmother at last, and she can feel herself just sinking into this woman's arms in a way she never has before.

"You're alive," she whispers, so raw and so relieved, and Annabeth finds herself being rocked; it's that motion that breaks her, and suddenly she's crying. It's quiet, still, but her arms pull tighter, even if she towers over her stepmom, but she lets herself go in the feeling. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever imagined something like this, but never had she ever really imagined going through Tartarus either.

She's vaguely aware of footsteps hurrying down the stairs, and she looks up just in time to catch her father's eyes as he reaches the bottom. He looks like the air's just been punched out of him – surprise, relief, worry, happiness, all of it slides across his face as she hears him mutter her name, and her stepmother pulls back enough to look over herself.

And then Frederick's there and his arms are, too, pulling his daughter against him so fiercely it almost feels like the wind gets knocked out of her lungs. "Annabeth," he says, "Oh, Annabeth," and he repeats her name over and over, and she can feel herself start to cry even harder. It's more than crying, she's actually started sobbing and shaking in his hold.

"Hi dad," she says weakly, the words catching in her throat as she nearly chokes on them. It doesn't seem like he's going to let go of her any time soon, but she's oddly okay with that. They're here and they're happy and they're just as scared as she was. It's a strange feeling, though not entirely unwelcome.

"Sally told – " Mrs. Chase starts, and Annabeth can hear the tears in her voice, "– she called and told us what happened, I –"

"We were so worried," Frederick cuts off, interrupting his wife, but she doesn't seem to care. "Gods, Annabeth," he mutters, his tone breaking, and he just keeps _holding_ her; she stands in his arms and lets herself sob, his hand gently rubbing her shoulder in comfort. She feels her stepmother come up, feels another set of arms circling her, and all three of them just sort of become a tangled hug of tears.

They were, they were worried, and they knew – of course they did, of course Sally would be sure to tell them, and the way they cling to her so warmly and fiercely suggests they'd been overcome with concern. She can almost picture them pacing the house, praying and hoping and wondering, hopes she's not getting ahead of herself with that. But it's so overwhelming – no matter how much better things had been between her and her dad, even between her and her stepmother, Annabeth still sort of felt a little awkward. Living back home, however briefly it'd been, hadn't been the worst, but choosing to move back to New York after the Titan War had been an easier decision than she liked to admit. She kept the key, simply because she couldn't bring herself to give it back.

And they've welcomed her home. Her _stepmother_ welcomed her home and held her so gratefully, glad to see her alive and safe. She's having a hard time getting over that.

Frederick kisses her on the forehead, and she buries her face in his chest. Her father, who once did nothing when she'd ran away, her stepmother, who pushed her to it – they're standing around her like she's the most important thing in the world, and so far, only Percy Jackson has ever really given her that feeling.

"Annabeth," he says, softly, gently, lovingly. "Annabeth, Annabeth."

Even her name in his voice holds a specialness. "I'm sorry," she starts, completely unable to see with the way her eyes have squeezed shut so tightly. "I – we had to, Mom gave me a quest – I fell, Percy followed – "

Her father cuts her off with another swift kiss to the forehead, pulling her back to look at her face. "You have nothing to apologize for," he says, holding her gaze.

Her face feels puffy and blotchy and hideous, but she can't look away. She can feel her stepmother's hand running gently over her back. "I know we're not always the most up to date," he continues, somewhat regretful. "But you don't have to explain anything you don't want to. Not right now."

Annabeth has never explained anything to her parents that she didn't want to, not since she was seven-years-old and out the door. And honestly, explaining Tartarus isn't something she's sure she can ever do, beyond the names too important to abandon. But there's something small and nice in the fact that her father is giving the choice – that he'll listen, if she wants to talk. That he'll be there.

After the weight of it all still following her around, there's a part of her that feels like she could collapse on the couch and curl up beside him and just _stay_ there, and he'd let her. Ten years ago she left them behind, and today, for the first time since then, Annabeth gets a sense of closure. But not the end of a book kind – the kind that opens up more possibilities.

"I love you, Dad," she whispers, so light and faint, that she's not even sure he hears it.

He does, though. She can tell from the way his arms tighten around her, from the way he mutters it back. "I love you, too, Annabeth."

Before she has any time to think on that, the back door slams open, and a stampede of two thunders into the room. She peers out just in time to meet her brothers' eyes, and they stare at her incredulously for a moment.

Despite her father's reassurances, despite his hold on her, she feels another swell of nerves, because it's not exactly like she's been the greatest big sister in the world.

But Matthew and Bobby tumble forward; they're taller than she remembers, she has time to note before they attach themselves to her and suddenly she finds herself engulfed in a five person family hug. It's almost enough to send her emotionally overboard. She's about five seconds from it, actually.

Almost like he can tell, Frederick finally pulls himself away, and everyone else follows suit. He keeps his hands on his daughter's shoulder, takes her in as she stands there. The twins hobble back and forth on their feet, like they're itching to be on the move; Bobby tugs a little at her hand, but Annabeth just waits, staring at her father. She's gone through so much, she knows she has, and part of her is starting to feel like she needs to find a new place entirely for the direction she wants to go in, but this little place, with its smell and mess – she's never felt more welcomed in this home.

Frederick beams, his eyes still red from his own tears. "You are your mother's daughter," he says. "And mine, too. Thank the gods you're all right."

And before she even realizes what's happening, Annabeth cracks a smile.

Her brothers take it as a good sign, and start darting around the living room, asking their mother when's dinner, when are the cookies going to be ready, and Mrs. Chase leans over to brush her lips over Annabeth's hair. "Are you staying for dinner?"

She opens her mouth, closes it, fighting back the last hurrah of nerves. "I was – kind of hoping to maybe stay the night."

"Then we'll have pancakes for breakfast," she replies, easily. "They're still your favorite, right?"

Annabeth has to resist the urge to ask if her stepmother can make them blue, but she nods, almost laughing from just how much she's _felt_ in the last however long. "Yeah," she says, quietly. She feels so drained. But in a good way.

"Your room's still upstairs," Frederick adds, as if she'd just gone away to summer camp.

Which in some ways, was kind of exactly what she'd done. And maybe, she's starting to realize, she has more homes and more possibilities to go back to than she's ever known.

* * *

(originally on ao3, etc.) annabeth's family life makes me really sad and it needs more attention forever :(


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